


The Flight of the Dragon

by NatashaRedFox



Series: Stolyarsmut [4]
Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Death, Drunkenness, F/M, Friendship, Love, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29980944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatashaRedFox/pseuds/NatashaRedFox
Summary: Memories. Emotions. PTSD. How does one deal with these things? How does someone move on?
Relationships: Boris Stolyarchuk/Original Character(s)
Series: Stolyarsmut [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143587
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	The Flight of the Dragon

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Dragon and the Knight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29904585) by [LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife/pseuds/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife). 



> Based on the HBO characters of Boris Stolyarchuk and Anatoly Dyatlov as played by Billy Postlethwaite and Paul Ritter. No disrespect is meant to the real people, their families, or their memories.
> 
> This is my original character Anya's POV of the fic The Dragon and the Knight by Lastnightfanfictionsavedmylife. Check it out!

_No!_

Anya's heart seemed to stop for a moment, her breath caught in her throat. She closed her eyes tightly. She struggled to get her breathing under control. She clenched her fists and opened her eyes. _No!_ She thought again, her heart now pounding as she looked at the screen. _No! Not this!_ The sound of her pulse pounded in her ears and her vision began to blur, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the images of fire, smoke, and forest dancing before her on the television screen. As the narrator of the propaganda film outlined the events she was paralyzed with panic, the walls seemed to be closing in on her. Like being at the bottom of a well. The well that was now being shown on the film. At the mention of the "Miracle Child" the fear paralysis was broken. She leapt up and ran out of the apartment, without a word to Boris, skipping the lift and running the whole way down the stairs. The only thought in her head was to escape.

She didn't remember any of the journey home between kick-starting her bike and skidding to a halt outside her place. She didn't register climbing the stairs to her apartment and opening the door, but here she was, and the phone was ringing. Boris. The name jumped into her mind. Probably wondering what happened, why she ran away like that. She tried to block all thoughts from her mind. Without really registering what she was doing, she unplugged the phone and poured a large shot of vodka. She knocked it back and poured another. After downing that one the dam burst and she sank to the floor, crying in a way she hadn't done in over 20 years.

She woke the next morning in the same place she had fallen. She lay there for a while, feeling weak and drained, until the memory hit her like a stab to the heart. She stood up, reconnected the phone, and called work to say she was ill and wouldn't be in. It was the first day she had missed since starting at the plant. She hung up before getting an answer and unplugged the phone again. Grabbing the vodka, she went to her bedroom where she spent the day crying and sleeping. At some point Boris was hammering on the door, begging her to let him in and talk, but she had no energy to move or even reply. She dreamed about him, but the dream involved fire and loss. The weekend passed in much the same way.

The following week she forced herself to get tidied up and go to work. She did her job on autopilot. Her cold facade was back with a vengeance, masking the emotions she was trying not to have. She was sitting on the roof during her lunch break, chain smoking. She couldn't bear to be around people, and she couldn't bear to be indoors. It made her feel trapped. Like she felt when she was a child in that well, as the fire raged around her. The fire that destroyed her village and everyone in it, including her family. Parents, siblings, cousins, friends, neighbours. Everyone except her. The Miracle Child. Her mother had dropped her in the well. At first she thought her mother was abandoning her. It wasn't until later that she realised her mother was trying to save her. 

She had been rescued by the military volunteers, but she had lost everyone she ever cared about, everyone she ever knew, apart from her Babushka, who she lost a few years later to illness and old age. After that, she was stuck in a strict boarding school in Moscow. Since then she had emotionally kept everyone at arm's length, not allowing herself to get close to, or care for anyone. Until she met Boris. He had tried to talk to her a few times since the night she ran out, but she couldn't face him. In the end, out of panic, she shouted at him to leave her alone. The look on his face broke her heart, but she just walked away. 

She kept remembering the story her Babushka used to tell her, about the dragon and the knight. The strong, fierce dragon who destroyed anything that tried to hurt her, the dragon with scales that weapons could not pierce, the dragon who could not be hurt. The dragon who was tamed by the songs of a beautiful knight, who gained her trust, gained her love, got close, and then wounded her, but couldn't bring himself to kill her. The knight who she then stabbed with his own sword, and, heartbroken, left to die on a riverbank. For most of her life she had felt isolated like that dragon, alone, and growing her armour to protect herself. Boris had gotten through, like the knight. He hadn't wounded her, but what if she lost him like she had lost everyone else? What if something happened to him? She would be devastated. Best to disconnect now, to back away before she got hurt again. She didn't think she could cope with that hurt again. 

The week wore on, Boris stayed away from her. She was hoping that the feelings would fade, but they didn't. She was aware that she was extra harsh at work, but she couldn't help it. She heard all the whispers along the lines of ' _the dragon awakening'_ and _'Boris needs to give the guard dog a bone_ ' which didn't help at all. She even shouted at Roza, over some stupid Xerox machine. She felt bad about that. She genuinely liked her. She even shouted at Dyatlov about it. So she was surprised when Roza invited her over for drinks on Friday night. She didn't want to go, but Roza had a way about her. The woman even managed to pull a small smile from her! The first one since that bloody documentary had been shown on TV.

The evening had started innocently enough, apart from a couple of mentions of Boris, which she shut down with a cold stare. Dyatlov wasn't there, he was working late, but he had cooked sgibni. A Siberian delicacy she had not had in over 15 years, since the days of Babushka. The Grumpy Woodpecker was a surprisingly good cook! And even more surprisingly, they went well with Akimov's potent purple homebrew! 

She drank far too much of that damned brew. Enough to make her let her guard down when Roza steered the topic around to Boris. She desperately tried to stifle the emotions, hold back the tears. Unsuccessfully. She told her of the fire, the deaths, her feelings of fear and loss, and the story on the dragon and the knight. Roza knew the tale of the dragon, better than she did. She had never been told the end of the tale, where a witch found the dying knight, and, moved by the Knight's story of how he had fallen in love with the dragon's fierce beauty and how he couldn't bring himself to kill her, saved his life by turning him into a nightingale who sang to the dragon every night so she would never be alone again. 

Anya's tears flooded down her face unstopped. "I never heard the ending. I sent my beautiful knight away" she sobbed. "But I lose everyone! They all died! I couldn't take it if something happened to him! Best to distance myself before it's too late." The realisation hit her that it was already too late. She cared for him. She was falling in love with him! "Everyone dies and I'm left alone" she sobbed. "I want my nightingale but I'm afraid." "I'm your friend, if you're getting rid of Boris, are you going to get rid of me? asked Roza. Anya realised it was true, she had become very fond of Roza, another person to get through her armour. The best friend she ever had. She would be devastated if anything happened to her. And Dyatlov himself. She had seen another side to him since helping with the wedding. "How do you cope with these feelings?" She asked. "The fear. What if something bad happens?" "And what if it doesn't?" replied Roza. "Do you want to keep trying to repress your emotions, or take a risk on happiness and get your nightingale?" "I hurt him though" Anya whispered. "How can I possibly get him back? Why would he want me now?" Roza smiled. "We have plans to make, plotting to do. This calls for more pies and homebrew!"

Anya woke at lunchtime the next day, still on Roza's sofa. Whatever had woken her had also woken Roza, who was beginning to stir from her blanket nest on the floor. She lifted her head and winced at a bolt of pain. "How much of that stuff did we drink?" she asked, vaguely gesturing to the empty bottles of Akimov's homebrew. "I lost count" mumbled Roza as she forced herself to sit up. Anya slowly, carefully did the same. "Were we singing THAT song?" she asked. "Yes you were" said Dyatlov, entering the room with an amused smile and cups of strong fresh coffee. "Loudly and proudly! You put me to shame!" He chuckled as he set down the coffee and went back into the kitchen. Another memory hit Anya. She turned to Roza. "I told him he'd make a good Babushka, didn't I?" she whispered. Roza giggled in reply as Dyatlov came back into the room with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, this time carrying toast and jam. Anya closed her eyes and groaned. This made Roza giggle more, despite her hangover. "He also tucked us up in blankets and made us breakfast" she laughed. "I have him well trained!" Dyatlov huffed good naturedly, and Anya laughed. 

Later, after several cups of coffee, Anya was at home alone and anxiety came creeping back. What if she couldn't get Boris back? What if he no longer wanted her after this? Did she even deserve him? Probably not. It would be nobody's fault but her own. And what if she did get him back but something happened, as she feared, and she lost him? How did people deal with these feelings and fears? Especially people who have suffered loss. How did Dyatlov deal with it? How did he find the strength to take the chance with Roza? She wished she could ask him, but she didn't feel she could, even though they had become friendly. She briefly smiled to herself. Who would have thought that he, of all people, would be one of the few to break through her armour?

Monday rolled around, and she met Roza after their shift as planned. They were outside the cleaning cupboard. "Seriously? That's the plan you two idiots came up with?" She sighed. "Seriously?" She could feel panic rising. "It's a lucky Cupboard" said Roza. "Well I've had mixed results with it" Anya retorted, causing Roza to giggle. "We are leaving nothing to chance" she reassured her. "I hurt him though, he won't want to be in there with me" Anya burst out. "We are leaving nothing to chance" repeated Roza, more firmly this time. "Now shush, they'll be here soon." With that, she bundled Anya into the cupboard. A few moments later Boris was pushed in too, with a shout of protest and a look of cautious surprise when he saw her.

"What's going on?" he asked uncertainly, reaching for the door. She shrugged and shook her head. "Some idiot idea of theirs" she replied softly. "But please don't leave. I owe you an apology, and I want to explain." He stopped reaching for the door and stood facing her, arms folded. He looked so sad and it broke her heart. She did that to him. "What happened that evening?" he asked, confused. She took a breath. "Do you remember the programme on TV that night?" she started. He nodded. "I was in the kitchen when it started, when you ran out. I didn't watch it because I was worried about you, but it was that documentary propaganda thing about that forest fire in Siberia. The one where everyone dies except the Miracle Child. What does that have to do with anything?" She swallowed, took another breath. She could feel the fear and he memories building up. She had to stay calm though. "Maybe this would be easier if you had watched it" she whispered. "Why?" he asked, then grimaced. "It looked horrific." It was" she replied. "I was there." She looked down.

A look of shocked realisation spread across his face. "You're the Miracle Child" he whispered, and stepped forward to hold her in his arms. Her tears started to flow as she nodded. "I understand why you ran out, why you were upset" he said to her, softly. "But afterwards? Why would you not see me or speak to me?" She raised her head to look at him. "Don't you see? They all die" she shouted, overcome with emotion. "I have lost everyone I've ever cared about! What if something happened to you too?" 

He raised a hand and gently wiped tears from her face. "I can't begin to imagine how bad it has been for you, but it doesn't mean things will always be bad" he gently told her. "I understand why you reacted like that, but I promise you, you will only lose me if you want to." "How can you know that?" she sobbed. "We never know what might happen." "That's true, but sometimes we need to take the chance. We have to decide what is worth it." He backed off a little, but gently held her arms. "So the question is, do you want to take the chance? Is it worth the risk? Are we worth the risk?" She looked back at him with a nervous smile, and nodded. "That's why we are in here" she said. I wasn't sure if you would talk to me, so it was their idea to get us in here. Roza thought we could talk, and Dyatlov... well, he gave a man's opinion" she raised an eyebrow at the last bit. Boris laughed. "Come here" he said, taking her into his arms again. "Of course I would have talked to you. I was hurt and confused, but I love you, and I would have listened." "You do?" She asked, surprised. "I should have told you sooner" he murmured. "I will do anything to make you feel safe and secure, but please, next time you are afraid, or anxious, or worried, talk to me. Let me know how you're feeling, and let's try to work things out together." She nodded and smiled, tears forming in her eyes again. 

Boris leant forward and kissed her tenderly on the lips. She sighed with pleasure as she responded. It had only been a week and a half, but she had missed him so badly. This felt right. They pulled apart and gazed at each other for a moment, before launching into each other in a more passionate embrace, one of his arms tightly around her waist, his other hand on the back of her head as they kissed. Her fingers ran through the hair at the nape of his neck while her other arm pulled him closer. Their kiss was deep and frenzied, promising more, but he pulled away. "No" he said. "Not here. I'm taking you home, where we can be comfortable and uninterrupted. Where we can eat, talk, and relax, with no worries." He opened the door onto the now empty corridor, and hand in hand, made their way out of the building. "I'll tell you a story about a knight and a dragon" she said to him. "The one with the nightingale?" he asked. She glanced at him, surprised. It seemed that everyone had heard the full story except for her.

Later that night, as she lay next to Boris, wrapped in his arms, she thought to herself that she must do something to thank Roza and Dyatlov. Her friends. Friends who helped her get back the man she adored, the only man she had ever felt this way about. And she must do something special for Boris, her amazing, kind, wise, beautiful man, to prove she meant what she said, to prove she would never let her fear hurt him again.

Boris gazed at Anya as she fell asleep next to him, and silently thanked Roza and Dyatlov for bringing them back together. He softly stroked her face, getting a sleepy smile in return. This beautiful, strong, complex woman had trusted him with her vulnerable side, and he vowed to himself that he would do his best to make her feel safe, secure, and loved.


End file.
